Questionably Unworthy of Post Number One

I was born so long ago
That I can hear sometimes
The way above me, slowly,
Cold water smoothly glides...

-insert disclaimer here-
[for some reason, my poem refuses to appear in white font.. try highlighting it with your mouse?]

Come.
Let us rape the garden; I hear
their apples' moon milk flesh might
lick my bare wounds
Shut.
Come.
You can be the neon dripping,
muscle-tearing ravage flavor of the peach.
Like the sun-son.
Strike
with your sickeningly standard physiochemical
form, human.
Come.
The heaven's drenched with silent stars,
my poison swims so poignantly to clothe
the lamps in mist.
Grasp.
I want your paranormal laughter.
Come. Our witch brews amber blood tonight, bronze syrup,
liquor,
liquid jam--regardless, I am floating,
death in doses is my rebel ecstasy.
Walk
the fallen corpses of the ancients,
Breathe raw pine, feathery birch skin,
Trace the ideal-less curve of my prison.
Come.
Whisper not the truth. Lithe rain echoes
too scalding pure. Instead,
soak me in illusions, partner.
Come.
We both prefer the glossy green to
rancid pink indulgence. Let the refreshing sour
bite
drown you. In doses,
our witch brews sickeningly
standard neon dripping moon milk death.
Come.